


A Delicate Balance

by Tell_Me_Tales



Series: Dimension 297 [11]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (Like off a cliff wrong), (With too much Hurt and not enough Comfort), Abuse, Angst, Bill Cipher is Unapologetically Evil, Broken Families, Complicated Relationships, Courtly Love, Dark, Demonic Possession, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-it gone wrong, Ford is a Mess, Grunkle4Grandpa, Horror, Masturbation, Mind Games, NSFW, Nightmares, Non-consensual sex, Not A Fix-It, One Night Stands, Other, Pines Family circa 1980s, Poor Life Choices, Pre-Series, Rape, Romantic Friendship, Stangst, Stress, This Is What Happens When You Try To Force A Fix-It Into Canon, Unrequited Lust, Violence, Work In Progress, domestic life, it's not pretty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tell_Me_Tales/pseuds/Tell_Me_Tales
Summary: ...is easily upset.Stanford Pines is living comfortably in Gravity Falls with his sister-in-law and nephew. A routine has been established, he's close to figuring out how to stabilize the portal, and he hasn't had a single Bill-induced nightmare in almost a year. He should have known it wouldn't last.Do yourself a favor andREAD THE TAGSbefore you click. This fic is going to touch on some ugly stuff.





	1. Routine

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to say now that this is not an attempt to glorify... pretty much anything that happens in this fic. In this story, Ford and Carla's relationship and lifestyle aren't quite what they _should_ be, and that allows Bill a foothold to tear them apart and do some serious damage to Ford's mental health while he's at it. And on that note: I realize that there are those in the fandom that are rather fond of Bill but do remember, quirky and humorous as he can be, he's still the villain. And, frankly put, Bill doesn't strike me as a character much interested in changing his role.

**Gravity Falls, OR**  
**September 27, 1981**

"Carla?" Ford says loudly as he closes the front door behind him, "I'm home!"

"You're back early!" the woman in question calls from further inside the house. He finds her crouched in front of the television in the living room. She looks up at him with a tired smile. "I just got Jason down. I'm still setting up, but we should be ready to go soon," she explains before asking, "It went well, then?"

_Hungry lips travel along his shoulders. He grunts as he tightens his grasp on the woman's hips and thrusts deeper._

Ford shrugs in response. Carla is aware of what he's been up to. Just as important, she isn't asking for details -- Which is a good thing, truly, because he wouldn't be at all comfortable giving them. -- only checking to make sure he hasn't managed to find his way into yet more trouble. (Ford can't be angry with her for asking; he does, after all, have a worrying propensity for just that.)

"Well enough. I'm not feeling as agitated as I was before."

"Good. Now, go shower," she orders him, returning her attention to the stack of VHS tapes in front of her, "I should have everything set up by the time you're done."

"I'm going," he answers, holding up his hands in appeasement even though she isn't looking at him, "I'm going." True to his word, he retreats from the room and obediently makes his way up the stairs and into the bathroom.

The first few times he'd gone out had left him feeling unaccountably guilty. It had felt like cheating. Never mind that it had been Carla's idea to begin with. Never mind that the woman in question was not his wife, but actually a friend from high school and his sister-in-law by a twin brother he hasn't seen in roughly a decade. She holds his heart, whether she wants it or not, and he'd hated turning to others for something he only really wanted to share with _her_.

Ford sighs as he lets the hot water cascade over him. His skin flushes under the heat as he washes off, masking the red marks left by the woman he'd met at the bar he'd gone to. Soap and water make quick work of the sweat (and the other byproducts of his earlier activities) still clinging to his skin and it isn't long before he's washed it all down the drain.

The problem is, this isn't merely a line drawn in the sand that Carla is hesitant to cross; this is a series of crisscrossing lines all drilled down into the bedrock of who she is and she's not about to budge. So, he'd taken up a new routine despite his distaste for it, and, for the most part, it works. It's still far from ideal, but the ideal is something he's come to realize is unattainable.

For a moment of hesitation, Ford stands unmoving under the continuing spray of the showerhead, rivulets running down his body and water dripping from his fingers and hair. He really shouldn't, but... He _is_ early. He probably should have taken more time. But he doesn't like leaving the portal unguarded. Or Carla and Jason alone. He's here now, though, and he no longer feels pressured to rush through things. He could just...

Ford takes a shuddering breath and then gives into the temptation.

The problem is, even knowing how hopeless it is, even knowing all of the reasons he shouldn't, Ford still loves her, needs her, _wants_ her.

He casts his mind back a few hours, to when he'd followed the tall redhead into the motel room. It isn't hard to switch out his most recent one-night stand for who he really wants. Shorter, wider hips, smaller breasts, soft curls of brunette hair, blue eyes, and a gentle smile. Imagining her comes easily.

Ford's breathing quickens as he thinks about how it would feel to hold Carla without any barriers between them, skin to skin. Her soft lips yielding to his as he kisses her, giving her wordless promise after promise. He moans quietly at the thought of laying her down and settling between her legs, her body cradling his readily as he presses close. Ford gasps at the joining, " _Carla._ "

The woman moans in response. Her hands find their way into his hair and he loves the way her nails dig into his scalp just slightly as she arches against him. He brings one hand up to cup her cheek and buries his face in her curls. Carla whimpers as he coaxes her closer to her climax. He kisses her forehead, her cheek, and then claims her mouth for a few stolen seconds before turning his focus to where she needs him. Ford encourages her into lifting one of her legs higher against his side. He plunges into her with deeper thrusts. She calls for him and it's nearly his undoing. Ford grunts and changes his angle. He's rewarded in short order. Carla releases a cry as her orgasm pushes her into senseless abandon. Ford follows her over the edge almost immediately.

Stanford gasps for air as he comes back to reality. The man groans and takes a moment to gather himself before quickly cleaning both the stall and his body. Ford exits the bathroom less than three minutes later, toweled off and dressed in fresh clothes.

He takes a short detour into the sole bedroom of the house. He makes sure to stay quiet so he doesn't wake his sleeping nephew, but Ford indulges himself in running a hand over the riot of curls on Jason's head. The two-year-old sleeps on, oblivious to his uncle's presence. Ford forces himself to leave before that changes. Carla will not be pleased if he wakes her son so late in the evening.

Ford pads back downstairs and makes his way toward the living room. "Alright, I'm finished," he announces right before he arrives at the entryway to the room, "What did you pick out this time?" He has his answer almost before he finishes getting out his question. The television emits a familiar line of dialogue and Ford knows immediately what the movie playing is.

"It's been awhile since we had a _Galaxy Trek_ marathon. I thought we'd start with the movie, and then we can argue over which season we should jump to," Carla says, sitting up from where she'd been sprawled across the couch, "I hope you don't mind that I started without you."

"That's fine," he dismisses, claiming a seat at one end of the couch, "It's not as if I don't already know what happens." The fact of the matter is that he has the entire _Galaxy Trek_ movie memorized by heart and Carla can quote nearly every line, as well. To say nothing of the actual series. Regardless, the movie is only an excuse, a convenient distraction to keep things from becoming awkward.

"Mm," Carla hums in absentminded agreement. She settles a large bowl of popcorn between, eyes already returned to the screen once more.

The arrangement doesn't last a full five minutes. By that point, Carla has thrown her legs over the open portion of the couch and is leaning against his side, the popcorn bowl balanced on her lap and Ford's arm around her shoulders. The woman is a couch hog, despite how many times Carla has tried to train the habit out of herself. Ford doesn't mind. He really, really doesn't.

The movie's closing credits see the two cuddled together with the easy companionship that comes with three years of closely shared living space. Ford is twisted so that his back rests half on the arm of the couch in order to accommodate Carla. The woman is reclined against his chest and nearly asleep. The bowl got transferred to the floor at some point, though he can't quite recall when that happened, now.

"I should get up and start the next tape," Carla mumbles as the last of the credits disappear and leave a solid black screen in their place. She makes no move to do so.

"Leave it," Ford says quietly, "We can start the marathon tomorrow, if you want." He has one hand tangled with hers and the other splayed loosely over her abdomen. He brushes his thumb back and forth over the fabric of the shirt she's wearing and notes absently how the nail catches on one of the buttons just a little with each pass.

"Hm," comes her halfhearted response.

Ford chuckles softly. "Long day?" he asks, turning his face so that his chin brushes the shell of her ear as he buries his nose into her hair.

Carla yawns. "Not really. I just didn't sleep very well last night." Ford stiffens instantly. "I know what you're thinking, Stanford, and you can relax. Not every bout of insomnia has to be linked to Bill Cipher. Calm down." She squeezes his fingers in reassurance.

"Right. Of course." He forces himself to let go of the sudden tension in his muscles. He succeeds -- somewhat. "Sorry," he apologizes and brings their joined hands up to kiss her palm.

Carla yawns again. "We should go to bed before we fall asleep here."

Ford offers a small hum in vague agreement with her statement. Neither stir for several long minutes.

Eventually, Ford is forced to admit that as comfortable as he is snuggled on the couch with Carla now, he will not be so comfortable tomorrow. He shifts, prompting a soft complaint from his dozing companion, and manages to find the remote to turn the television off. "Come on," he coaxes as he carefully slides out from under her, "Let's go."

The woman opens bleary, blue eyes to look at him for a moment before closing them again and curling up on the couch she now has to herself. It seems Carla has given up on the idea of relocating and is content to linger where she is.

Ford swallows the laugh that wants to escape him. "Alright, then," he says slipping one arm under her shoulders and another under her knees, "Come here." Carla's arms encircle his neck as soon as he begins lifting. Her head rests against his shoulder and her sleepy sigh ghosts against his neck. She mumbles a few, slurred words and it's only due to their familiarity that he's able to decipher what it is she's said. Ford presses a kiss to her forehead and returns, "Goodnight, Hotpants."

His arms have begun to ache by the time he makes it out of the living room, up the stairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He fumbles with the blankets, causing Jason to fuss briefly, but manages to get them turned down well enough for his purposes. He sets Carla down next to her son before climbing into the bed himself and pulling the blankets up over the three of them.

Ford steals a moment to carefully toe that all-important line, placing kisses on her cheek and temple before gently nuzzling her ear. The man sighs contentedly. It's not what he wants in its entirety, but it's damned close and he'll take whatever Carla is willing to allow him. He slips his arms around her waist and spoons the woman he's rebuilt his life around.

He loves her, and he needs her, and if what he wants doesn't quite fall within the same boundaries as what Carla wants, well, his own desires will just have to take a back seat. He isn't about to risk what he has.


	2. Worst Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a WIP, so things may change, but as of my current plans for the fic, **this chapter is one of the ugliest** in so far as upsetting material goes. (There's a good chance this chapter will be the worst in the entire fic, actually.) If you want to give it a miss, that's perfectly understandable and you should be able to piece together the important bits as the story progresses.

**Gravity Falls, OR**  
**September 29, 1981**

It happens suddenly. One second Ford is working in his attic office and the next he is floating above his body in the Mindscape.

No.

No, it can't be!

He stopped this!

Bill can't --

Bill grins up at him using his own possessed face.

"Hiya, Sixer!" the dream demon chirps, yellow eyes equal parts gleeful and insane, "It's been a while!"

Horror keeps Ford mute.

Bill laughs. "You didn't _really_ think something like inserting a metal plate into your skull would be enough to keep me out, did you?" the monster wearing his skin asks, "Though maybe that's why you used two!"

The demon pushes away from the desk, carelessly toppling stacks of paper and tipping over the nearby inkwell. He rises from the chair Ford had been seated in and teeters toward the door as he relearns the balance of the body he's taken over. Bill trails stolen fingers along the wall as he exits the office and descends the stairs that lead to the rest of the house, leaving uneven lines of black ink in his wake. Ford follows, both because he doesn't dare let his traitorous muse out of his sight and because he doesn't know what else to do.

They get to the bottom of the staircase in time to glimpse Carla disappearing into the bedroom while carrying a sleepy Jason. Bill pauses and looks at the disembodied man hovering at his shoulder. "You know... I think the portal can wait a few minutes." The already painful-looking smile on his borrowed face stretches wider still and Ford dreads whatever the bodysnatcher will say next. "It's about time I introduced myself to Shooting Star properly, wouldn't you say?"

"No! Don't!" Ford pleads desperately, "Bill, you can't --"

Bill cackles loudly. "Oh, that's precious! Sorry, Stanford, but -- in case you haven't noticed -- there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

"But -- She never made a deal with you! She isn't --" Ford tries again, but Bill cuts him off.

"No, but _you_ did!" Bill reminds without dropping his manic grin, "Don't worry, Fordsy, I'll take _good care_ of your little girlfriend!" The demon breaks into giggles and ignores the rest of the anxious scientist's babbling.

Carla is bent over the bed, carefully disentangling herself from Jason's hands when Bill enters the bedroom. She glances behind her with an annoyed frown. "Could you keep it down a little? I'm trying to get Jason down for a nap and you're making it harder than it needs to be."

She doesn't know the danger she and Jason are in, Ford realizes with a sick feeling. She knows about Bill, his trickery and the nightmares, but she doesn't know about Bill's ability to forcibly possess his body. Carla doesn't know to watch for yellow eyes and crazed grins, or what they mean, even if she does spot them. Ford never told her everything about his ex-muse. He'd left out details like world-ending portals and demonic possession, because they hadn't been relevant, because he had the situation under control, because... Because he hadn't wanted to see the fear and disgust on her face when he confessed just how completely Bill owned him. And now he won't be the only one paying for his foolish decisions.

Bill shrugs at the woman. "I suppose I _could_ , but I don't see why I _should_." Jason releases a grumpy whine at the loud volume of the response. Carla shushes her son and runs a hand through the boy's curly hair before turning to face Bill.

"What's gotten into you?" she asks as her brow takes on a worried furrow. She reaches out to catch his elbow and attempts to guide him from the room. "Are you alright?"

Ford's incorporeal hands twitch at his sides. He wants to take Carla by the shoulders, pull her well away from the demon wearing his skin, and scream at her to take Jason and run. He forces himself to remain still and silent. Trapped in the Mindscape, as he currently is, he is powerless to warn her. And he refuses to give Cipher the satisfaction of such a reaction when he already knows it will yield no results.

Bill spares him a glance over Carla's head, anyway. The sly look is full of a demented joy that leaves Stanford more than a little apprehensive.

"Peachy!" Bill chirps before grabbing the woman by her arms and kissing her roughly.

Carla stiffens. The paralysis of shock keeps her from reacting immediately, but after a second she makes her ire known. Carla wrenches her head back and pushes at Bill's borrowed chest. "Stanford Pines! The Hell do you think you're doing?" she demands as she glares up at him.

Jason stirs at her loud words and wakes. "Momma?"

"Sorry, Shooting Star," Bill says, relishing the way the woman's eyes widen in sudden understanding and fear, "Fordsy is taking a little break! As for what I think I'm doing, anything I like!"

"No," Carla breathes. The woman makes a lunge in a bid to get to her son and away from the demon, but Bill catches her around the waist and allows the momentum of their combined movements to carry them to the ground. Carla's head clips the bed frame on their way down, drawing a pained cry from the woman.

"Momma!" Jason gasps.

"Carla!" Ford frets, unable to suppress the kneejerk response, "Please, Bill, stop this! There has to be something other than the portal I can give you! Just --"

Carla's elbow comes up and strikes Bill across the face. The demon laughs. "Oh! Good hit!" Bill cheers, "Stanford's bound to feel that one later!"

The woman continues to fight, but Ford already knows that her efforts will be futile. His body is larger and stronger than Carla, and Bill delights in pain. Anything she can do that might have been enough to deter a human attacker will only egg Cipher on further. This is a situation doomed to end badly. Just how badly depends on whatever the demon has planned in his twisted mind.

"No, no, no!" Jason cries, crawling over to the edge of the bed. Little hands latch onto the possessed man's shirt and tug, "Uncle Ford! No fighting with Momma!"

Bill glances at the two-year-old. "Not now, pipsqueak," Bill orders, carelessly pushing the child away, "Wait your turn."

"No!" Carla gasps, "Jason!"

Jason tumbles a short distance over the mattress and hits his head against the bed's footboard with a _crack!_ before coming to a stop against it. Stanford flinches at the sound even as he hovers closer to the boy. He isn't able to check his nephew over for injuries very well in his current state and it makes him feel less than worthless. The child draws in a large breath and promptly bursts into loud sobs. It's a cold comfort to know that the toddler remains well enough _to_ cry.

Bill uses Carla's distraction to pin both of her wrists to the floor with one large hand. "There we go!" the demon singsongs in satisfaction. Bill straddles her waist, putting Ford's greater weight to use.

Carla's struggles lessen as the hopelessness of her situation begins to sink in. She glares up at the creature wearing Stanford's face. "I'm going to destroy you," the woman vows with venom.

Bill giggles at the announcement. "It's cute you think you ever could," he says, pausing in thought for a moment before adding, "You know, this has been pretty fun!" Bill runs an ink-stained finger appreciatively over a set of scratches Carla had left over Ford's cheek. "But I actually had something _else_ in mind for this little get together." Wariness cracks through Carla's mask of righteous anger. "I mean, I doubt it can measure up to all the hype, but they say you shouldn't knock something until you've tried it, and now seems like _great_ time to try out the whole human-sex thing!"

Stanford freezes. He can't have heard that right. Please, please, let him have heard that wrong!

" _No!_ "

Carla renews her efforts to escape. She fights fiercely, but it's unlikely she would have succeeded even if Cipher wasn't the kind to use underhanded methods.

"Nighty-night, Little Star," Bill cackles madly as he wraps a hand around her throat and squeezes. Carla coughs and sputters against the pressure, desperately wriggling in an attempt to break or at least loosen the demon's grip on her neck. It's a battle she loses, and the woman falls unconscious in short order. "I think I like her better this way!"

Even without currently having a physical stomach, Ford feels as if he is moments away from throwing up. "Please. Please, Bill. Anything else. Just don't do this. Leave them alone," he croaks in one last pathetic plea.

Bill lets go of Carla's neck and wrists, leaving smears of ink in partial handprints over her skin. "Well, Sixer, I _would_ be willing to talk terms," he quips lightly as he strips the woman of her shirt and uses it tie her hands together around the bottom of one of the bed posts. She groans softly as she begins to regain consciousness and Bill casually wraps a hand around her neck again until she slips back under. Bill finishes the thought as he removes the rest of the woman's clothes, "except you don't really have anything left to bargain with."

Carla begins to stir again and the demon simply repeats the process he established earlier. Bill does it with a terrifying ease and familiarity. Ford doesn't want to know what circumstance lead to Bill learning how to cut off enough blood flow and oxygen to the human brain to keep someone incapacitated but avoid killing them.

"I already have your body," Bill's voice slices through the morbid thoughts and brings him back to the present -- his own personal hell on earth, "and I don't actually need your help with the portal, you know. Sure, I could use a hand -- but you've already given me two!" He chortles over his own joke as Ford cringes. "Besides, you should be thanking me," Bill says as he discards the last of Ford's own clothing.

"Why would I _thank you_?" Stanford nearly chokes on the words they're so bloated with incredulity.

"Your welcome!" Bill responds happily, "After all, it's not like _all_ of you is against the idea of having a bit of fun with Shooting Star. I mean, I barely know what I'm doing, but this body sure does!"

The woman starts to rouse yet again. Cipher raises a hand to her neck and rests it lightly over the dark bruise already beginning to appear on the delicate skin, but doesn't squeeze. The woman's breathing deepens and her eyes open slowly. Her disoriented gaze stares straight through Ford to the ceiling beyond him.

"Now, let's see, I'm pretty sure this thingamabob here goes into that doohickey there. Let's give it a try!"

Carla screams.

Jason cries.

Bill cackles.

Ford feels a piece of himself dying and wishes the rest of him would follow.

The woman writhes and bucks and twists and never stops screaming except when Bill starts choking her again, and then she gasps and coughs as her struggles weaken until the dream demon loosens his grip again and the horrible cycle begins anew.

Runes suddenly flash in the air on either side of him and reality seems to tremble ever so slightly as an impossible wind pushes his hair away from his face. It isn't until it happens for a _third time_ that Ford finally remembers why the sigils look familiar and what they're for. "I'm dreaming," he says faintly, too numb at that point to truly feel the relief that realization should bring him, "It's a dream."

The words break the illusion instantly, leaving Stanford to fall through darkness with only Bill Cipher's insane laughter for company. A shudder races up the man's spine even as he reaches for the wards' magic and flees the nightmare.

* * *

Stanford Pines wakes with a sob lodged in his throat. More importantly, he wakes to Carla's wide, tear-filled eyes.


	3. Shoulder to Cry On

It's the sobbing that wakes her.

It takes a moment for Carla's sleep-addled mind to realize the crying is coming from the man behind her and not the little boy in her arms. She has no idea how long Stanford has been crying, but a sizeable patch of her shirt's collar and upper-back area has been soaked through with his tears.

"Ford?" she asks quietly, trying to to sit up and finding her movements hampered by both her son's hands fisted in her shirt and the man's arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She manages to extricate herself from Jason's clinging fingers thanks to long practice but Stanford's hold proves a bit more tenacious. "Ford?" she says a bit louder but still receives no response.

After several seconds spent failing to untangle herself, Carla settles for loosening the man's grasp enough to roll over so she can at least _see_ him. She finally succeeds in achieving that much and is surprised to realize that the man is weeping in his _sleep_.

Her stomach twists with guilt. It's a nightmare, and a bad one at that. Probably courtesy of one Bill Cipher if Ford hasn't managed to wake up on his own by this point. She's gotten complacent. She should have noticed sooner.

The woman buries her hands in her brother-in-law's hair, fingertips seeking out the scar hidden beneath the locks. "Come on, Stanford. Wake up," Carla says, lightly stroking the scar tissue over the warded metal plates in the man's head, "It's a dream. Nothing more. Wake up."

Stanford usually rouses almost instantly; this time, he doesn't.

Something's wrong. Something is very wrong and she isn't sure what else she can do to help if Ford won't wake. "Stanford? Wake up," Carla feels tears of her own begin to gather in her eyes as Ford remains unresponsive, "Please, wake up! Ford!"

Finally, finally, the man gives a full-bodied shiver and the tension in his muscles fades. Carla breathes a sigh of relief, "Thank God." Stanford's eyes fly open and he gasps for breath as he stares at her. "H-hey," Carla greets shakily and uses a sleeve to scrub her eyes before the water gathered there can escape in streaks across her face, "You frightened me a bit. You weren't --"

Ford withdraws from her in a hurry and nearly falls out of the bed before she catches one of his arms. He flinches at the contact and freezes in place. Carla freezes too.

They stare at each other with wide, frightened eyes as Jason's night light slowly cycles through colors and paints them in different hues.

"Stanford?" Carla eventually breaks the hush that has fallen over them.

"I'm sorry!" Ford sobs and then just doesn't stop, repeating the phrase over and over again hysterically, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Carla feels her heart break a little. Just what has that pesky triangle done now?

"Ford, Stanford, it was only a dream," she tries over the man's continuing litany. She reaches out, hesitating for a second when he shrinks away, and cups his face between her hands. "Whatever he showed you, whatever you think happened, it wasn't real," Carla assures him, using her thumbs to brush away fresh tears.

"I-it was _my fault_! I let him, I let him -- Oh, god. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Carla bites back the urge to curse the dream demon's existence loudly and using a few creative expletives she'd learned during her time living out of the Stanleymobile. It might help her temporarily vent her frustration, but she really doesn't need to add those words to Jason's vocabulary and it won't help calm Stanford down, either. "Ford, you didn't _do_ anything! You were dreaming!"

Ford shakes his head, obviously unable to believe her just yet.

The woman considers her options as the man in front of her weeps with no sign of stopping any time soon. Carla sighs and scoots closer to Ford. It had been a hard lesson for her to learn, but as much as she believes the unmitigated truth never stops being important, someone's perception of it -- no matter how skewed, or simply different from her own perspective -- can be just as important.

Carla rises up on her knees and presses a kiss to her friend's forehead. "I forgive you." Ford stills completely, his breath hitching and the apologies finally coming to an end. He whimpers quietly as she places another on his temple. She draws back to examine his expression. He still looks afraid, and guilty, but the tears are finally beginning to slow, if not stop.

Hesitantly, he dares to reciprocate some of her touches. Ford wraps one hand loosely around her wrist, thumb stroking her skin, and the other brushes lightly over her neck before settling on her cheek. He swallows thickly. "I'm sorry," the scientist says again, the words less frantic but no less regretful than their predecessors.

Carla catches his hand and turns her face to kiss his palm next. She returns her hand to his cheek and meets his eyes. She makes sure to speak clearly as she wipes away his tears with her thumbs, "You're _forgiven_ , Ford. And you are _loved_. Bill can't change that."

Her words trigger a new round of harsh sobbing and Carla gently guides his head to rest on her shoulder as the man breaks and clings to her.

"Momma?" Jason's small voice calls, drawing the woman's attention to the room's final occupant.

The boy is sitting up in the bed and staring at the two adults. The child's expression broadcasts doubt and shadows of encroaching fear.

Carla isn't surprised that her son has woken up, so much as she didn't realize when he did. How long has her little boy been left alone and confused after waking to what must have been an upsetting scene for such a young child? She suppresses the urge to sigh as she runs a hand through Ford's hair and quietly acknowledges the fact that she had gotten too comfortable during Bill Cipher's prolonged (relative) inactivity. She's failed to be as vigilant as she should be tonight. She swears it will not happen again.

"It's alright, Baby," Carla tells her son, "Uncle Ford just had a nightmare."

Jason crawls closer and sits next to her. "Was it the Triangle Man?" the boy asks in a loud child's whisper and with an expression too serious to belong on a two-year-old's face.

Carla doesn't hold back her sigh this time. There is so much about the whole situation that is all wrong, but none of it more so than being forced to raise her son with a distrust of anthropomorphic triangles with penchants for top hats and deal-making and blue fire. It's not what she wants for her son, but she has no illusions that Bill will spare Jason simply because he is young. After all, as far as the extra-dimensional menace is concerned, they are _all_ infants.

"Yes, Honey, I'm pretty sure it was Bill."

The boy nods almost solemnly, a determined tilt to his mouth that reminds her of Stanley. Jason wobbles a bit as he shifts to push himself up to his knees and Carla instinctively reaches out with one arm to stabilize her son. She needn't have worried. Jason catches his uncle's arm and shoulder and from there quickly changes the hold into a hug. "You're awake, Uncle Ford. The Triangle Man can't hurt you. I'm here." Jason plants a sloppy kiss in Stanford's hair.

Carla isn't certain that Ford is even aware of his nephew's words or actions, given his current state; she, on the other hand, is fiercely proud of her son.


	4. Quiet Hours

Jason eventually nods off after his uncle quiets, but neither of the adults are so ready to go back to sleep.

Ford sniffles past inflamed sinuses. His head aches and hums. The first symptom, he knows, is the result of his sobbing, but he's having trouble identifying the cause of the second.

"M'sorry," he mumbles again, like it's a habit he doesn't quite know how to break. He's thinking more rationally than he had been immediately upon waking. He recognizes now that the events were no more than a dream. They still _feel_ as if they'd been real, though, and he's having trouble shaking the lingering guilt as a result.

Carla doesn't answer, hasn't for the last several times he's repeated the words, just continues to hum a soft, tuneless melody and stroke his hair. Her nails scratch over his scalp gently and the humming in his head increases by the slightest bit.

Oh.

That makes sense. Carla doesn't know much about magic -- rather dislikes it, actually -- but she's probably been charging the wards for the past several minutes without realizing. It doesn't take much (merely close proximity and a desire to protect) and he can't recall ever telling her what _exactly_ it is she's doing when she wakes him from one of Bill's nightmares. One more item to add to the growing list of things he needs to talk to her about.

Ford catches her hand before it can make another pass. (His head will be likely be buzzing for hours from the excess energy she's fed into the wards, as it is.) The man shifts to press his face against her neck. "Thank you," he whispers as he laces his six fingers around her standard five. He pulls their joined hands between them to rest against his chest.

"You don't need to thank me for this," Carla whispers back.

"I want to."

Carla's sigh brushes past his ear. "You're welcome." He feels her place a kiss over his temple. It's not close enough to the metal plate and the sigils etched into it to charge the wards further but the affection of the gesture still resonates with the magic field they project, producing a warm hum. A more natural, warm hum settles in his chest to mirror the one in his head.

He doesn't dare say the words often, but there are moments like this where he finds it all but impossible not to say them. "I love you."

Carla stills for a moment and Ford runs his thumb over the back of hers as he waits. Another sigh. "I know." Her arm tightens around his shoulders and the next kiss lands on his cheek. "I love you, too."

They both know Carla doesn't say the words with quite the same meaning as Ford does. It hurts, some, to recognize that. Still, the simple fact that the woman returns them at all is comforting in its own way.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks after several seconds pass in silence.

He thinks about explaining the nightmare to her and feels his insides freeze. The man shudders.

Stanford pulls away, carefully untangling himself from Carla. At this distance, even in the dark and without his glasses, he can tell with certainty that her skin is free of unfamiliar blemishes. There's no bruises nor smears of ink marring her skin. That ought to be reassuring but all he can think of is how easily that could change if Bill has, in fact, found a way around the wards keeping him out of Ford's mind and body.

The scientist swallows thickly and pulls the woman near again. Ford holds her close but makes sure to keep his grip gentle. He's more than a little afraid of what his own hands are capable of, at the moment. He rests his cheek against Carla's head and forces himself to speak past the tightness in his throat. His voice comes out as something of a hoarse croak, "No. But I think we may need to. Parts of it, at least."

"Alright." Carla returns the embrace, one hand cradling the back of his neck. "What do you need to tell me?"

Ford takes a steadying breath and tries to think beyond his fears. The dream had been frightening because it was too close to reality, but it hadn't been entirely correct. Now that he's awake, he can see little things that weren't quite right about it.

The largest discrepancy is that he did tell her -- once it became apparent that she was going to be staying for longer than a few days, that he wasn't going to be able to convince her to leave -- about Bill's ability to possess him. Not everything, very probably not enough, but he _has_ told her. (At the time, he'd kept his explanation as minimalistic as possible. Bill's betrayal had still been raw. It had _hurt_ to talk about.)

"I'm not sure if it's possible, if he's really capable of it, but I dreamed that Bill found a way around the plates -- the wards -- and he used my body to, to..." _rape you, injure Jason, punish me,_ "He used me to hurt you."

"Oh," the word is quiet. He isn't sure what she thinks of his vague statement, but he's willing to give her time to absorb what little he's said so far.

Carla wriggles a bit and he suddenly realizes his hold has tightened considerably. He forces his arms to loosen and mumbles, "Sorry."

She remains silent but presses a kiss to his jaw and brushes her thumb back and forth over his nape. Ford nuzzles her temple in response. Sometimes, words are unnecessary.

After nearly a minute of unbroken quiet, "I suppose that explains why you freaked out when you woke up." Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, but Ford still flinches. Carla frowns. "You took a while to wake up, this time. I got a bit worried."

The man shifts uncomfortably. "The dreams are usually lucid. This one wasn't. I was... drawn in by Bill's lies and it took me a while to recognize the dream for what it was," he admits. Ford takes a breath in an attempt to calm his nerves before continuing, "If it becomes more than a dream, if Bill is actually able to work around the wards and possess me again, my eyes will change. When Bill possesses someone, their eyes turn bright yellow and become slit-pupilled like _his_. If you aren't able to check my eyes, but I'm acting or speaking strangely -- stranger than usual -- assume the worst, don't take chances.

"And if Bill manages it, if he can possess me again, then I'm _dangerous_ Carla," Ford swallows thickly, "I need you to promise, if it ever happens, that you'll take Jason and _run_. Take the car and drive as far away from here as possible. Back to Jersey, if that's what you want."

She draws back, looking up at him with wide, blue eyes. "I can't promise that!" Carla protests, "I can't just leave you alone!"

"If Bill can possess me, then it's not safe for you to stay!"

"And what about you?" the woman demands and pushes her hair away from her face with an agitated hand. "You're a wreck without someone around to keep an eye on you," he flinches at the phrasing, but Carla continues, "Ford, I still have to make sure you remember to do basic things daily, like _eating_! That is _not_ someone you leave to take care of themselves. And that's not even taking all the Bill-related issues into account!"

"I'll be fine," Carla glares at him for the obvious lie but he does his best to ignore it and presses on, "Bill needs me alive. He won't kill me."

"Bill couldn't keep a _goldfish_ alive, let alone a person," Carla hisses, "to say nothing of your sanity or general well-being. He has a better chance of killing you by _accident_ than you do of surviving him in one piece."

"Please, Carla," Ford pleads, "it wouldn't be just you in danger. I could -- _Bill_ could use me to hurt Jason. I need you both to be safe."

Oh. If looks could kill, this entire conversation about Bill would have just become a moot point.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she decides after a long stretch of silence, "This whole thing is one big 'if,' right now. Knowing Bill, it's probably all lies and scare tactics. He wouldn't bother with dreams if he could actually do anything."

"...Perhaps."

Carla gives a stubborn nod and hugs him again, her arms wrapping around him more tightly than they had previously. If she leaves a wet patch on his shirt to mirror the one he'd left on hers earlier, neither of them mention it.


End file.
